


The Sixth Horocrux

by joinallthefandoms



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:41:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joinallthefandoms/pseuds/joinallthefandoms
Summary: An ongoing (and by ongoing I mean I have no writing plan and am simply *running with it*) exploration of what would've happened if Voldemort had thought for 2 seconds to like.... idk find out how Harry and Dumbledore found out so much of his ultra top secret immortality trophies that he spent the better part of his lifetime creating and hidingbasically a what-if-voldy-won lil thing that i, once again, dont know what im doing with
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 2
Kudos: 86





	The Sixth Horocrux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear – 
> 
> The flash of green light never came. What Voldemort said next was not avada kedavra, nor even crucio. He incanted something only two amongst them would understand. 
> 
> "Legillimens," he hissed in Parseltongue. 

_Harry could feel his wand against his chest, but he made no attempt to draw it. He knew that the snake_ _was too well protected, knew that if he managed to point the wand at Nagini, fifty curses would hit him_ _first. And still, Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and now Voldemort tilted his head a little_ _to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless_ _mouth._

_"Harry Potter," he said, very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. ‘The boy who_ _lived.’_

_None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting: everything was waiting. Hagrid was struggling,_ _and Bellatrix was panting, and Harry thought inexplicably of Ginny, and her blazing look, and the feel_ _of her lips on his –_ _Voldemort had raised his wand._

_His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering_ _what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now,_  
 _quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear –_

The flash of green light never came. What Voldemort said next was not avada kedavra, nor even crucio. He incanted something only two amongst them would understand. 

"Legillimens _,_ " he hissed in Parseltongue. 

There was no time to think for even a second before it, maybe never time to think again. Harry couldn't think, or see, or register anything but the razor-sharp claws shredding his brain apart, the sensation of being ripped in two at the scar. Whatever Snape had taught him, if so much could even be said, was child's play. Voldemort's long spindly fingers were rifling through his head like a trunk, finding tiaras and stones and flaming-hot swords and becoming increasingly aggressive with each one. Harry was sure he'd fallen, or was screaming, or both, because he thought he heard distant laughter. There was no way of knowing where his agony stopped and Voldemort's fury began, but both were mounting so quickly- he was drowning, dying, surely maddening under the pain. 

But now he was drowning, not in pain, but in the silvery silk of the Pensieve and his stomach gave a lurch which had nothing to do with the splitting pain in his head. What followed could have taken seconds, or years. Harry would never know. 

Lord Voldemort screamed in fury and exuded a blast from his wand which sent everyone, including Harry, flying twenty feet into the air. Harry slammed into the trunk of a large tree and crumpled to the ground. Now the world truly was spinning and he was sure his head was melting, burning, turning to ash because he could only see white, feel red. Then all went black. 

**...**

"M-my Lord," sputtered Bellatrix. She was the first to rise and, facing his back, dared ask, "my Lord, is he...?" Voldemort ignored this. He took a few steps toward where Harry lay prone and unconscious. Bellaxtrix didn't dare follow. 

The boy's glasses were broken, and he was now bleeding freely from his scar. The scar he was never meant to have, on a forehead that oughtn't have grown past the size of an infant's. The Boy Who Lived. 

Lord Voldemort, once so determined to have seven horocruxes, and nearly undone by the one he never intended to make. Lord Voldemort, thwarted not by Harry Potter, but by his mother's stupidity, his servant's betrayal, and his own mistakes. Such mistakes could never be made again. Though, even as he thought this, and stared expressionlessly at the boy, he could barely suppress his rage. 

But Lord Voldemort was always rational, ever the strategic Slytherin. He would not allow the boy to become a martyr, an even greater symbol of hope for the fools who still fought for him at the castle. He had, after all, spoken the truth when he said he didn't want to spill magical blood. He wanted to purify it. 

"Bella," he called softly, so softly as to be barely audible. Naturally, she appeared by his side in a second, her head bowed and her expression hungry. 

"Yes, My Lord."

"You, Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco return my prisoner to the Manor."

She looked up in shock. "And leave the battle, My Lord? All four of us?"

He spared her a cold glance. "Are you truly arrogant enough to believe this battle will be won or lost based on _your_ _family's_ involvement, Bella? Or have you so easily forgotten your grave failures a few weeks ago?"

She blanched but set her jaw. "No, of course not, my Lord, I am merely eager to find and kill my werewolf-breeder niece-"

He held up a hand to silence her. "You'll go where you're told. Now. I must rally our forces and... _regretfully_ ," he grinned, "inform Potter's friends of his defection."

"Defection, My Lord?"

He looked back down at Harry with the same mirthless smile. "I expect it'll come as quite of a blow to them, hearing how the Boy Who Lived, scared for his own life and no longer able to hide his cowardice, came to me and begged to be spared." 

Bellatrix's face practically glowed as she cackled maniacally. 


End file.
